Not gonna talk to you, but I'm going to marry you

The funniest thing happened on Sunday and I just had to share with those of you who don't go on Facebook!
My sister, one of our friends, and I went to meeting in Sandy on Sunday so that we could go to a movie with our friends there afterward.  After meeting I was standing in a circle of friends when I felt a soft patting on my lower back.   When I turned around a cute little blonde boy was standing there, staring at me.  As soon as he saw he had my attention he looked up at me seriously and said, "I don't know your name."
"My name is Leandra," I told him, but it was loud so he repeated that he didn't know my name and I repeated what mine was.  Afraid of it continuing, I asked him what his name was.  He rattled off something long in that not exactly clear English way kids have, but I had heard him comment during meeting so I clarified. "Your name is Izzy?"

He nodded and studied me for another moment, looking me up and down. "Are you a Jehovah's Witness?"
I replied that yes, I was and he gave me a VERY disbelieving look!  I'll admit I felt a little self conscious at this.  My dress wasn't short or revealing or tight, but I have a figure so sometimes I do worry about the message my clothes may be sending unintentionally.  After several more long moments of staring he informed me, "I'm not going to talk to you."
And with that parting shot he walked away into my group of friends.  I found this absolutely hilarious so I buried my head in Deanna's shoulder to keep from laughing and she was having a hard time keeping it contained too.   When I looked up he was looking at me but then turned and wandered away.
A few minutes later he walked up behind me again.   He told Rebecca and I, "You girls are very pretty. I'm going to marry you."
Playing along I said that he was a little young and I was too old so maybe we'd have to wait but he wasn't put off.   He said that since he was six and I was fourteen we could work things out!!
At this point it was time for us to leave so after a quick "see you later", another friend hustled me across the Kingdom Hall to get my bags.  He met us there and invited me out to lunch, Chinese, and after hearing that my friends and I were going to a movie (Wreck-It Ralph), he informed me that he had Madagascar 3 and 2 at home and that they were very good movies.  I agreed that they were very good movies, then Caitlin told him firmly that we needed to leave.  We said good bye and I just about died of laughter in the car on the way home, especially when Rebecca told me that she loved me too, but she had no desire to be a sister-wife with me, thank-you-very-much.

From "I'm not going to talk to you" to "Let's get married" in a matter of five minutes!  No wonder he has a reputation as a ladies man!  His poor parents and his poor twin!  XD

Day 25 - Searching, Impossible, Failing

August 25 - In search of impossible light (after Larissa Szporluk)

Music - Interlude VII from Fresh Aire IV by Mannheim Steamroller; The Impossible Dream from Stage Heroes by Colm Wilkinson


Striving
Hand outstretched
Grasping
Searching
Trying
Hoping
In vain
The struggle
To find it
To reach it
That impossible light
That unreachable star
That unreachable dream

What kind of crazy awesome name is Szporluk?  Wow.  I need a pseudonym that is half as awesome.

Day 25 - Failing Better

"No marks on paper can ever measure up to the word's music in the mind, to the purity of the image before its ambush by language."  - Mary Gordon
"What we need to do is think of all our failed drafts simply as steps toward the final one, the one that works."  - Barbara Abercrombie

You have no idea how many times I have bewailed and bemoaned the fact that we don't have telepathic abilities.  Star Trek, you are cruel for introducing me to the idea/possibility.  The images I see in my head and scenes I write have so much more depth and flavor and character and emotion than what I am capable of conveying on paper.  Sometimes I can rewrite or edit in some of what I miss the first time but there comes a point where there are too many words and they begin to obscure the image I am trying to paint/clarify.  See, right there.  We don't have a word to convey the thought/feeling/emotion I am going for so I resort to slashes.  Some day, my friends, I can only hope, some day we will have the ability to convey ourselves perfectly.

I was feeling like this was a little 'blah' so I am glad to be able to include pictures!  And on an unrelated note, I think Barbara is a weird name.  Bar Bar A

Day 24 - Drool in Z-Row Gravity

August 24 - Writer the place the landscape dissolves

Musical inspiration: Fresh Aire V album by Mannheim Steamroller
Songs: Lumen, Z-Row Gravity, Dancin' in the Stars, Creatures of Levania

The door this time does not lead to idyllic pastures and soaring trees.  This door is similarly small and rounded but metal and rivets have replaced wood and scroll-work.  This door is cooler to the touch as it opens on its own landscape.  This is clearly another planet, dusty and dark, stars lighting the silky sky above abandoned monorail tracks.  Behind the door, above us is an abandoned and desolate city, angles and blocks of crumbling metal surrounded by the gentler lines and curves of the track.  Beyond the city is nothing.  Well, nothing artificial.  Spires rise in the barren landscape, stretching to touch the looming, rosy moon, but they are made of rock and stone, not iron or steel.  These will erode some day, not be eaten by rust and time.  While the city sits in tones of grey and black, the spires and land are sepia, brown, red and blush.  The city ends starkly, a line drawn in the sand, but beyond the landscape simply dissolves, dust becoming dust becoming stars.

This is a companion piece to A World of Pure Imagination and both were very inspired by music.  Any of you whom have not listened to Mannheim Steamroller's Fresh Aire CDs (there are seven of them) or Saving the Wildlife (especially 'Wolfgang Amadeus Penguin') I recommend them.  Sunday Morning Coffee and Sunday Morning Coffee: Day Parts are both good too but a little sedate for anything but dinner background music.  :)  My favorites are Fresh Aire V, which is space themed, Fresh Aire 7, based around the number 7, Fresh Aire IV, especially 'Dancing Flames', and 'The Cricket' from Fresh Aire III.  The music is instrumental with definite manipulations mixed with some vocal and natural sounds (rain, a cricket, a fire, etc.).
I don't convey it well in the piece but there is a GIANT moon looming largely over the scene, almost completely filling the sky directly in front of the viewer.

Day 24 -Writing While Drooled Upon

Evidently Ms. Abercrombie got serious about writing after having two children and spent most of their childhood writing.  She isn't the first author I've heard of that started writing after the birth of a child and wrote during their naps and practices and classes.  Thankfully there are also plenty of examples of authors who never had children (Ms. Austen) or had children after they were published.  I want kids some day but I'm not planning on them any time soon!

Day 23 - The smell of winter and crazy writers

August 23 - The smell of air in winter

The air in winter is plain, smokey and boring.   Except for right after a snow.  Then the air is still, clean, clear, warm, and magical.  I love to stand in our backyard and sing "Winter Wonderland", preferably after dark so the porch light illuminates the snow and casts the prettiest shadows.  (Fewer chances of eavesdroppers too.)
Spring mostly smells like snot to me because I am so stuffed up I can't smell anything else.  Spring smells like mud and dirt and rain and new things growing.  And wet dog.  :)
Summer smells like sunscreen and chlorine and campfire smoke.  And it is not summer until I have used my SPF 15 Sun Shades Harvest Berry lipbalm. ♥♥♥  Summer smells like wet concrete ans sea and, if I have my choice, sulfur.  Yellowstone or airshow or both.  Acrid but comforting.  Home.
My favorite season to smell though is autumn.  There is a change come September and October (my favorite month ;)) that I live for.  As the cold air begins to creep in the first wood fires are lit in stoves and fireplaces in the neighborhood giving the air a warm, rich scent.  There is also a smell in the first week of September, psychosomatic I'm sure, but it smells like school.  Old musty books and new pencils and binders and backpacks and jams of people.  The smell of Eastwood and happiness.  Autumn is also when those bags of cinnamon pine cones show up.  When the shelves are stocked with apple and cinnamon and spiced candles and everything becomes cozy and happy.
Winter is nice, but I love autumn.

Day 23 - What Writers Do

Some authors have very interesting ways of writing.  One gets up at 4 am, sets his laptop screen so dark he can't read what he's writing, writes for a few hours, then goes back to bed until 8:30 am at which point he edits what he wrote.  Another writes 250 words every fifteen minutes from 5:30 am to 8:30 am.
They are both NUTS.  Or morning people.  Or both.  How the heck do you get anything coherent or legible out that early???  I prefer writing in the afternoon or at night, depending on my schedule and mood.  Some scenes only come out after dark, when I'm alone.  And that sounds bad!  :)
It also lists two authors who use different font methods: 8 pt so they have to squint to read and 14 Courier.
I'm more of a Verdana/Georgia myself.  Times New Roman if I'm using a word processor too.  I prefer rounder fonts to think with, in a comfortable 10-12 pt reading size.

Day 22 - Packing for writers

August 22 - You're packing a suitcase

The first step to packing a suitcase is print off your packing list.  Then your pants and shirts go squarely in the upper left hand corner, held in place by the underwear and socks packed on the bottom left.  Any skirts or dresses get packed next, folded on top of the shirts if there's room, rolled up on top of the socks or folded flat in the right hand quadrants if there isn't.  Next, make sure you have jewelry for every outfit packed in the tackle box and store with any makeup  that is coming.  Next is shampoo, conditioned, soap, hair ties, comb, brush, and tooth washing implements.  Anything else gets to play jigsaw puzzle to fit in.  Except any nail polish.  That gets wrapped in the socks or shirts (with the outfit it matches if possible).  Then you zip the case and you're done.  Ta-da.

I realize this isn't creative but that's all I could think of.  :)  Now I've got a vision of Tony Stark walking into Pepper's room and leading off with a very confused "You're packing a suitcase.  Why are you packing a suitcase?  You have clothes at all of our houses.  Stop packing.  Where are you going?"

Day 22 - A Writer's Lifestyle

"Writers don't have lifestyles.  They just sit in little rooms and write."  - Norman Mailer
While the act of writing may not be the most exciting thing in the world, I'll grant you, I would object to the statement that we just sit in little rooms!  I can't think to write id that is the only place I go/am!  I must have green at some point.  Blue sky is nice too but honestly, this is Oregon.  I'm soaking it up now.
I can agree that writers don't have lifestyles though because we are each unique.  There is no set way for a writer to live and perform their passion.  On pages 150-151 of A Writer's Book of Days it lists fourty three authors and the various jobs they had while writing, including pasting labels on bottles of shoe polish (Charles Dickens), selling roach powder and playing the piano (E.B. White), selling tombstones and playing an organ in an insane asylum (Erich Maria Remarque), banking (T.S. Eliot), compiling encyclopedias and teaching chemistry (Isaac Asimov), and serving as a University Postmaster (William Faulkner).  The variety and eccentricity of jobs is mindboggling and fascinating.  Some where married, some weren't , and a variety of religions are represented.  Each writer has their own unique lifestyle and style of writing.
Don't pigeonhole us!

Day 21 - Home in the spotlight

August 21 - The geography of home

Home is where the heart is.
Interesting that it doesn't say "the geography of a home".
I used to design a house I could live in with my family that would allow me to have cats.  It involved two seperate air systems, an airlock, and a laundry room between the cat and cat-free halves of the house.
Home is my family, a place to eat, a place to sleep, my pink blanket, and my dog. ♥  Which mean, when we are camping, home becomes our trailer or the tent I am sleeping in.  When I am housesitting, that house becomes my home after the third day, unless I've stayed there before, in which case it becomes home as soon as I've mostly unpacked, put away the food I brought, and greeted the animal I am caring for.

I cannot type today.  Spell becomes speel, is becomes id, would becomes woild..  -headdesk-

Day 21 - Finding the spotlight

The author discusses a guest speaker in her writing class who was "beautiful and forceful and self-assured" because she had given up "the fear of people getting mad at her".
I look forward to the day when I am calm and self-assured.
Evidently I can fool many but I always think of the illustration  my mother uses to describe my father.  He is like a duck on a pond; he appears calm and serene and knowledgeable, but under the surface he is frantically paddling.

I don't remember who took the pic, other wise I would credit.

I bees back!

Hey howdy hey!  I'm working on getting the back prompts typed up.  You can expect a batch tomorrow later today!  Enjoy!
Oh, and my trip was a lot of fun and a growing experience.  :)  It was my first build away from home (meaning I couldn't come home every night) but that was OK the first two nights because I stayed in our trailer. 
Mom and dad hauled our trailer up a couple of weeks ago for use by the brothers and sisters who also couldn't drive home each night.  When we were there one brother in the kitchen crew slept in my bunk, one slept on the folded down kitchen table and dad and I shared the master bed in our own sleeping bags.  Dad and I traded off on who was and wasn't sleeping all night.  And let me tell you what.  He SNORES.  Seriously, my parents and grandmother are epic snorers.  Usually I'm at the other end of the trailer, not next to either one of them.  Thankfully I brought caffeine otherwise I would not have functioned the next day.  It was also only through Jehovah that I was pleasant to the rest of the crew.  A nice morning person I am not.  Being surrounded by roosters when I woke up kinda helped though.
Friday we bent pipe and put on mud rings and drilled holes and I got to go up on a ladder and promptly lost all coordination as I had three guys watching my every move.  Stage fright!  On a ladder!  I survived and felt useful and it was good.
Saturday we ... basically did more of the same but the smoke from the fires, coupled with all of the sagebrush and dust started to cut off my breathing, prompting me to use our emergency inhaler, which gave me the jitters (worse than I remembered) which meant running around the work site wasn't going to be a good idea.  Thankfully I found a fellow card player so we played several rounds of speed until it was time to strip wire and run tails on the speakers, which is my favorite part of the build (even if I do have a habit of nicking the inner wires when stripping the bundle).  We were done around lunch time, at which point dad took me back to the trailer so I could pack my things, moved me to the trailer I would be staying at that night and dropped me back off at the work site while he went home.  This was a stressful time because I didn't know dad wasn't staying until Sunday when I agreed to work Personnel.  This meant I had to scramble to find a new place to stay.  Sleeping in a trailer with two men to whom I am not related (even if they are the-annoying-uncles-I-never-asked-for) and driving with them in their separate cars isn't exactly appropriate.  Thankfully I could bunk with some sisters from the kitchen crew, ride in with them at 5 am to be there for check in at 7 am.  Also thankfully, I had access to the sound trailer so I could stash all of my things there until it was time to go home Sunday night, as well as having a nice, quiet place I could retreat to after Personnel was done for the day and before going to help others.  I could also put on my makeup so I looked simi-awake when welcoming our brothers and sisters.  :D
Sunday morning it decided to rain and someone didn't cover the internet router so during one of the rushes three of us stood there with clipboards, hand writing each volunteer's information as rain soaked our tables.  Internet came back later but then Builder Assistant went down (Google and all that jazz worked), which meant we had plenty of time to watch the house down the hill smoke.  I never saw any flames, the firefighters responded very quickly and got it under control and no one was harmed.

Off to Hermiston

Hey guys,
Just dropping a line to say you probably won't see anything here for three or four days, depending on WiFi.  Life's gotten a little busy so I didn't have time to pre-write the posts for the next few days and I will be in Hermiston, OR helping rough in a Kingdom Hall.  I'll write every day but if I don't have WiFi they're not going to get posted.  :(  Forgive me?  :)
See you in a few days!
 - Leandra

Day 20 - Sleeping ... naked?

August 20 - Write about the weight of sleep (after W.S. Merwin)

Swimming upstream under wet concrete.  It drags you down, away from the sunlight of day.

Day 20 - Naked in the Hallway

Gwahhh?  The author has a friend (middle aged) who has a naked photo of herself, and one of her husband, hanging in their hallway.  O_o  The point the author is attempting to make is that "writing is indiscretion".
I think a better way to use the analogy is that you bare all when you write.  You can hide bit with lighting, leaving parts in shadow, but you are still exposed.

Day 19 - Faith in good writing

August 19 - You can have faith in _______

You can have faith in humankind and Jehovah.
This is a huge, deep topic and I am super tired.  So I give myself permission to fill this in when I put it on the computer.

Yeah.  Too busy.  Not happening.  Nice thought though.

Day 19 - The Five Characteristics of Good Writing

"... you might want to take another look at E.B.White's list of twenty-one reminders about style in chapter 5 of The Elements of Style.  It's the most complete and eloquent writing lesson you'll ever have."

I put off writing for two weeks trying to find the time to read this.  I checked out the book from the library and everything.  Guess it's going on my 'To Read' list.

Day 18 - Porch posse

August 18 - On the front porch

From the front porch he could, and had, seen everything.  Neighbors moving in and out, old friends dying, children playing, family fights, new boyfriends and girlfriends sharing thier first kiss goodnight, cars full of whooping youths off to a football game and limos at prom time.  You can see the lifeblood of the neighborhood pulse from his front porch.  A silent guardian, he watched.  Once upon a time it had been him; playing in the street, getting his first car, kissing his girlfriend goodnight, going off to prom, bringing his new bride home, welcoming a son, then a daughter, watching them follow the same pattern.  Now his children lived across town and his wife was dead.  He had retired years ago and all he had to do now was watch.  Some of the older neighbors knew him and would greet him as they passed by on their weekly ambles, "Hello Frank."  He would raise a spotted hand in return and ask after their children, or grandchildren, or newest hobby.  They would chat a few minutes then move on and he would return to his watching.  A few of the newer neighbors would stop too, greeting him with a respectful "Mr. Foster".  These conversations were shorter, the younger generation buzzing with energy and eager to be off.  And then he would return to watching.
The local police knew him too, and if anything happened on his street he was the first to call or the first they asked.  So when someone broke into the Hamill's house and he didn't call, the officers didn't feel bad about breaking into his house.  They found him in his armchair by the window, a plate of mashed potatoes and cor sitting on one side, a picture of his wife on the other.  And sitting in his lap, the phone.  91 were the last numbers he dialed.
His funeral was held on a sunny Saturday morning, attended by his family, the few friends he had that were still alive, and half of the local police force.  When his son and daughter went to his home afterward they were shocked to find his front porch covered in flowers.  There were notes from almost every house on the surrounding two blocks.  A few minutes later the neighbors themselves began to trickle in, a few bringing food to eat.  Soon his little house was full of all the people he had ever known.  Neighbors who had never spoken exchanged stories of how he had rescued their dog or stopped an egging or simply been a friendly face.  He would have been proud to see how he brought the neighborhood together.  And tickled by the annual BBQ held in his honor.

I've read this to two people.  One cried and the other teared up.
This prompt took on a life of it's own!  I immediately saw a little old man and an old, grey, tall Victorian/New England style house when I read the prompt and it went from there.  I've since decided that Frank Foster was a police officer before he retired and his kids were more than a little embarrassed about their father's "meddling" in the neighborhood but were put in their place by the neighborhood's turn out.  
I've had it strongly suggested that this be turned into a screenplay/movie.  What do you think?  I can certainly see composing music to go with it!

Day 18 - Your Validation Posse

"We're all skinless when we write, all nerves and need.  To find the right people to read what we're writing ... is fraught with danger."
"We need people who have no agenda with us yet have faith in us, who will validate what we're trying to do and let us know we're not wasting our time.  People who know how to critique with generosity, honesty, and wisdom.  We hand over a lot of power to these people, so choose your posse carefully."

Rarely have truer words been spoken or written.  It is so hard writing without validation, and so hard to share without worrying too much about what others think.  I am very fortunate to have several friends I can ask for critiques.  Deanna and Cat are my validation posse.  I can trust Deanna to bring my flights of fancy back down to realistic earth or make a humorous scene twice as funny.  And I can trust Cat to tkae the time to read what I've written and give me feedback.
I do questions my scenes still though and wish I got more plot reviews.  Help anyone?

Somebody, review, PLEASE!  Am I talking to myself here?

Day 17 - You're not here but I love you still

August 17 - You woke up and found him gone

Rae rolled over to find the other side of the bed cold.  Her body heaved with a sigh before she rolled back over and began blindly patting though her side table.  Her hand soon landed on the slim object she was searching for.
"Fauna Feral to Nightwing.  Come in Nightwing."
"Rae, is everything alright?"  Nightwing's voice was clearly concerned as it came through the communicator.  "How's the baby?
"We're fine," Rae laughed, still raspy from sleeping.  "But I really want starfruit and pistachio ice cream."
There was a moment of silence then Dick spoke again.  "Together?"
His tone was concerned, confused, and a little disgusted.
"No," Rae rolled her eyes and Nightwing could hear it through the speaker.  "But I do want both.  Do you have a moment?  I could send the cats or bats to pick it up."
Dick surveyed the area.  "I'm near downtown.  Give me a minute and I can get the ice cream from Meijers and there is a little Chinese market for the starfruit."
"Thanks love," Rae purred,  "Fauna Feral out."
"Nightwing out."
As he flipped the comm shut he could feel Tim's eyes boring into him.
"You are so whipped."
Dick didn't respond as he flung himself off the building.  Anything for his wife and child.

I realize this prompt could have been taken very depressingly and the part of me that is a sucker for a tragedy and loves country music certainly thought about going there, but then I decided that we don't want to read a sad story today.  'He' is not gone because their relationship is over.  He is gone because of a duty and he will be back.
And I forgot when I was writing that I changed her name after she came back from hiding.  And discovered that while pregnant with Merlin and Niada she craved raw fish and rare steak.  Emily prompted 'nicer' cravings.

Day 17 - Love Thy Reader

"Readers deserve to be treated like your closest friends ..."
Well, at this point all of my readers are my closest friends.  Or good friends at least!  But I will keep this in mind should I become famous, or more widely read.  :)

Thank you and much love to Deanna, Caitlin, Chelsea, Brian and Luke!

Day 16 - Smoke of burning typewriters

August 16 - Write about smoke

Drifting pain
   Heats companion
Billowing, billowing
   Restful odor

Funny, got this on the last day of camping.

Day 16 - Exploding Typewriters, Smoking Computers

I would love to see a burning typewriter, though I wonder how they could keep it burning without consuming it.  Great performance art.

Seriously.

Day 15 - Shadows and poem puzzles

August 15 - A shifting of shadows

A shifting of shadows was all the warning she had before he swooped down and pinned her with his gaze.
"What were you thinking?" he hissed.
Teeth flashing, she snarled back, "He should know better."
"Rayella," came the un/only slightly sympathetic response.  "You are off patrols until further notice."
"WHAT?!" the puma like shreik brought bats down from the rafters and had her cats puffing twice their size.  "You can't tell me what to do!  I am a valuable resource!"  You!"
"You made a stupid move and took it too far," he cut through her tirade with one sharp comment.

I was going to write more.  I even have quote marks and the word "and" ... but nothing else.  This is a key scene I have been avoiding for a long time.  The fight that leads to Rayella quitting the superhero business for a while and running away to have her kiddos.  This takes me a step closer to writing the scene where she loses her temper and beats the snot out of an abusive man.  Yay?

Day 15 - People in a Jam


"Poems prod.  They aren't meant to be a puzzle.  ... it's like a secular prayer."


There are two schools of thought on that.  I rather like imagery based poetry that allows you to interpret what the author is trying to convey.  On the other hand, straight forward poetry, that doesn't require thinking or too much imagination is relaxing and entertaining too.

Day 14 - Alone with pizza

August 14 - "Are you alone?" he asked

"Are you alone? he asked, his deep concerned voice soothing her through the phone.  She closed her eyes and leaned on the wall in front of her, her right hand cradling the phone while her left arm cradled her head.
"Yes, I'm alone," she sighed, "But I'll be fine, I promise."
"Rayella," he gently scolded, "You really shouldn't ..."
"I'll be fine, I promise I won't do anything stupid," she cut him off, frustration creeping into her voice.  Sheesh.  Have one little meltdown after you find out your husband is cheating on you the day you find out you are pregnant and you never live it down.

I couldn't decide who Rayella was talking to so I stopped it there.  She is either talking to her father, Dick Greyson (aka Robin/Nightwing), or Alfred.  Three men with soothing voices who care about her very much.
And I considered how this prompt could be taken as a creepy guy at a bar asking a pretty girl the same question ... but I like my version better!  :)

Day 14 - Waiting For Pizza
"Carry a notebook with you at all times to write down any ideas and inspirations or interesting facts."

I never go anywhere without my purse sized notebook.  Very ragged and dogeared.

It's always green too.  Writing is green, meeting is blue, therapist is purple, and health is pink.

Day 13 - The jetty and other diversions

August 13 - Something you saved

Every scrap of paper that has ever come into my hands or been given me.  I'm a terrible packrat.
I also saved my sister's life on the jetty.  I'm also the who kinda put it in danger by choosing to run to the jetty instead of up the shore but I did my best to keep everyone safe.  The image of her frightened, screaming face, the gum falling out of her mouth as the waves crash around our feet is indelibly imprinted on my mind.

So, the story with the jetty.  My family and several others from the congregation took a camping trip to Southbeach, Oregon.  One of the days we were on the beach we wandered in the direction of the jetty and Jake and I, being young teens/preteens at the time blazed the train, with Deanna, my younger sister, somewhere in between us and the group of grownups and older kids.  Deanna had mostly caught up with us when we saw a giant wave coming that was going to flood where we were.  I could hear Dad yelling for us to run and my brain went into overdrive.  Running up the beach, away from the waves was one option but I didn't feel we could run fast enough to escape it because the beach looked almost completely flat.  The other option was climbing the jetty and I chose that option, you could get higher, faster.  So Jake scrambled up first, Deanna in the  middle and me at the bottom.  Jake tried pulling Deanna higher, I tired pushing her higher, and she played limpet, gluing herself to the rock she was on.  And we made it just in time.  The huge wave lapped at the bottom of my shoes, nearly covering the rock I had gotten up to.  When the wave had mostly receded Jake decided to play hero and jump from the rock.  Evidently he hadn't seen the large trench that was now filled with water.  He got dunked, my dad grabbed him by the front of his shirt and Jake flew to the shore.  Go Dad!  Dad then waded over to us and carried either one or both of us to the rest of the group.  I remember Deanna being carried.

Day 13 - The Matanuska Valley and Other Diversions

 "Libraries and the Internet can be like crack houses for the research addicted."
Amen!  I can't count the number of hours I've spent wandering the internet or a random book after going in search of one specific piece of information.  I can't research worth squat but I can wander and find the most random and fascinating facts.

Day 12 - Long way of patience

August 12 - Write about taking the long way around

I took the long way around to the car from the library yesterday.  Normally I take the the handy new cut out but there was a cyclist fixing their shoe with their dog.  It was hot and the dog seemed friendly but I decided to give it room.  So I changed course like a pond skimmer, all angles, sharp turns, and quick movements.  I felt bad for possibly implying that the dog wasn't nice and the people/man behind me probably thought I was afraid of dogs but it's OK.  I took the long way around.

Day 12 - Patience

Writing takes time; dreaming, remembering, thinking, imagining, silence, solitude, and wasting time.
There is no fast and easy way around it.

Day 11 - Summer and Racing Hearts

August 11 - "Nevertheless it's still summer" (after Charles Wright)

It may rain in Oregon but it is still summer.
I may not have had a smore yet but it is still summer.

Since writing this I have had several smores.  It is officially summer!  :)

Day 11 - Racing Hearts and Churning Stomachs 

You don't have to like your own writing but others might.  You don't have to be calm and self assured.

Day 10 - Beginning or ending a work out

August 10 - It's either the beginning or the end

It's either the beginning or the end
A raindrop falls on a pond
It is the beginning and the end
The tear from a grieving mother
     has given life to a baby nymph
The first melt of the glacier is now
     the first sip of a duckling
The beginning is the end

I can see this turning into a children's book with Eric Carle style torn paper and etched paints art.  Or a villanelle.

 Day 10 - Working Out

Write for only five minutes!
Work out for writers.  :)

Usually we worry about not writing enough, not writing too much!  XD

Day 9 - Light on the water

August 9 - The way of light on water

Inlightened Ruffles

Inlit petals awash with pink blush 

Glides gently on molten wax

Crisp breeze caresses velvet ruffles

Bruised tips cradle

                            embers

                    dreams       glow

Inner contentment floats on viscous

                                             primordeal fear

Glazed

         in one rose

- Leandra Kafer (8. March .2006)

-----------------

Gently, gently it floated

Hovering

Not touching the cold water beneath

Pale and fuzzy, it could not bring itself to damp its life with this unhappy medium

Alone it wandered, wondered, searched for a companion, a someone, a friend

Searching across the water at last it found a beam of hope

"Come to me," it whispered,

     older, wiser, a lady

To the beam it flew,

     quickly as its form could fly

    to the voice that reached and faded

                             reached and faded

                             reached and faded

At last it reached its love

   Dodged bodies on the water

 And joined with its love

A stationary love

Whom it would leave

Older, wiser

To float again

Leaving with love and regrets

To find someone to share the water with again

The first poem I wrote years ago in my high school Creative Writing class based on the image you see.  When I read the prompt it was the first thing that came to mind so I had to copy it in before I began the new poem.

In the second poem I see this little, young, fuzzy, male ball of light floating above and wandering the dark ocean, searching for more of its kind and rather lonely.  Then it hears this siren voice calling across the water.  The voice is a lighthouse; older, more mature, female, maternal, and rather stuck in her ways (she is a lighthouse after all).  It dodges the boats on the water around her to fling itself into her light beam.  There they are very happy for a countless number of years until it begins to mature and realize that, despite their happy times, the lighthouse with it's stability and it with it's inherently playful and freewheeling ways don't share the same lifegoals.  So eventually the fuzzy light, now stronger, leaves to wander the waves again, again in search of someone to share life with. 

Day 9 - Getting Permission

Giver permissions to my students to write about themselves or whatever they please.

Day 8 - Everything Chirps

August 8 - Everything means something

I remember being so annoyed in high school when we read stories and the teacher asked us to find the symbolism in it.  I argued heartily that authors didn't put any in on purpose.  I was wrong.  I use names to symbolize things about the character or family.  I work in flowers from the Victorian language in one of my Rae stories.  But I won't do much beyond that.  It is too much thinking and like my stories to be easy on the brain.

I apologize Mrs. Croley and Mr. Beckley.  Profusely.  I was rude and stubborn and so sure of myself on the subject and refused to listen.  But I still hate To Kill a Mockingbird and The Scarlett Ibis.

Day 8 - The Voice That Chirps and Chips

"Just do the work.  Tell your story; it's important.  Have faith."

I liked this article too.  It talked about the inner critic we all have but that in authors is a little louder about both the stupidity and importance of our writing.

Day 7 - Dreaming and Jumping

August 7 - "In my dream I was the first to arrive" (after Thomas Smith)

I don't necessarily like being the first to arrive because then I'm not sure I'm in the right spot, but I definitely like being one of the first.  Then I can help with any last minute set-up or prep; I know where everything is before people show up; I can familiarize myself with the location before there is a crowd; and I can slowly greet people/acclimate to the noise as people trickle in rather than jumping into a crowded, noisy, potentially unfamiliar local.

Day 7 - Jumping Off

OK, they can finish talking about the risk taking or inappropriate side of writing any day now.
I do like the idea of randomly bursting into song in the middle of class though.

Day 6 - Daring to view the top

August 6 -The view from the top

     Most of the vista was shiny these days, only a ring of pale fuzz surrounding the field of vision.  The scragglyness had once been full and brown but time and weather had greatly reduced it.

    What is it?  A bald man's head.

I read this prompt, looked up, and was staring at my great-uncle's balding head.  I kid you not.  I tried making it more mysterious, like I was describing a mountain top but it really didn't work.  Oh well, live and learn.

 Day 6 - Daring to Tell

"Daring to tell, to open up the subconscious.  Then having to hold self accountable for feelings."
I've thought about this and pondered this quite a bit.  Feelings are scary!  Very!!
This philosophy of sorts also works on pain.  If I don't make any sounds of acknowledge it and if I don't tell anyone the pain will fade/go away/not get much worse/I can bear it.  But as soon as I whine or tell someone it gets worse/harder to bear because I've acknowledged it and it takes over.  Give it an inch and it takes a mile.

The part in quotes is a paraphrase of the article/the gist of it.  I enjoyed this one.  And funnily enough, we had a discussion like this on pain while camping!

Day 5 - Scaring up a family story

August 5 -  It was a family story
     It was one of teenaged Rayella's favorite romantic stories: the meeting and courtship of her grandparents Raymond and Elaine McGinty.

It's epic and sweet, I promise.  It is also longer than what I have time for at the moment.  Elaine Stewart was an English vet, trained in the city despite being raised in the English countryside.  Raymond McGinty was born and raised in fair Erin, fishing the lochs with his family.  Elaine visited Ireland with some girlfriends, met the quiet Irishman with a twinkle in his eye and the rest is history.  They lived in Dublin for a while before moving to America and having Bruce, Helen and Arthur in their new country.

Day 5 - Getting Caught
"If you're not scared you're not writing."
I don't believe that at all.  I can write plenty without being scared.  Unless I am hanging off a cliff or something.

Day 4 - Good intentions

August 4 - Write what is underneath good intentions

     A desire to help others.

     Ok, this prompt really irritated me for some reason.  I refuse to read bad into a situation and find the greed or desire to hurt others or whatever in someones heart.  I will look at the world with rose  colored glasses when I can.  I help others to be nice and to ease any suffering they may have.  I don't do it for prominence or money or any reward besides feeling like a million bucks.  /rant

Day 4 - Choosing Story over Relatives
"Writing is rewriting.  But first you need to have something on the page to rewrite."

Story of my life.  I mull things over in my head so long that then getting all the details on the paper is daunting.  I need a port in my brain so I can just dump all the data on the computer and then rework it.  :)

Day 3 - Calling Unremarkable Days

August 3 - "the details of unremarkable days" (after Revan Schendler)
    Rayella sighed and leaned her head back against the brick chimney of the building she was on.  The structure was gently warmed from the fire lit below as a deterrent against the cold forecast for that night.  The day had been absolutely boring and she hoped the night would be the same.  She hadn't had any classes due to the winter break and her father's clinic was closed so the whole family had slept until noon.  Brunch had been whatever they could hunt up and they each had drifted back to their rooms to read or play Legos or work on homework.  Around eight she had left to warm up at the Wayne mansion.  She had listened to the police scanner on the way there and while warming up and has been surprised to hear very little chatter, the occasional corner store robbery, a lost child, and two domestics.  Now she was patrolling and had yet to seen anything besides one attempted and foiled mugging.

Day 3 - The Holy Calling
Writing is a calling.

I found this unusually affirming and comforting.  Sometimes I feel like I have useless talents because they can't be as easily used for employment like a talent in mechanics or electronics or jewelry making can.  I have to be reminded that Jehovah created the human race to be diverse and I need to enjoy what I have.

Let's try this again

I've begun a new writing project!  Again.  I know.  I'm really bad at following through on things.  :/  I've bought two books (see below) that both have prompts for every day of the year.  Hopefully this will keep me motivated and writing nearly every day.  I started this on August 1st while I was on vacation so it was easy to find the time.  Since I've been home there have been many more distractions but I am posting my writing one month after I've written it/the prompt date so I have time to catch up.  Thankfully.  Hopefully this will keep my posts and updates more regular (except for when I have no internet).  I've tried using the auto post feature on Blogger so that it updates at 1 pm every day.  So far it hasn't worked but I'm going to do some testing and read the Help section and here's hoping it gets ironed out.
I am hand writing each of the prompts first so if they seem a bit short on your screen, it's longer on paper, I swear.  I'd like to start writing longer pieces but first I'm going to focus on writing daily.  Also, if they seem a bit scatter-brained, it's because I am not editing them before I post them, except for spelling or grammar.  If I do expand on a subject or comment on it, it will be in italics.
And introducing .... the help:

A Writer's Book of Days  by Judy Reeves

I've eyed this book for a while but didn't necessarily have a 'use' for it.  There are short articles on subjects like getting unstuck, how other writers became writers, and perfectionism, followed by five days of prompts.  ie.
September 1  "Even the lightning spoke well of them" (after W.S. Merwin)
September 2  He (she) asked you to dance
September 3  Write what was broken
September 4  We go out after dark
September 5  Write about dispelling loneliness

You are encouraged to change genders, tenses and points of view as you see fit and I enjoy it quite a bit.  I will go back and forth between fiction (based on one of my stories etc) and non-fiction responses, depending on how I am inspired.  So far this is a very enjoyable playground.

A Year of Writing Dangerously - 365 Days of Inspiration and Encouragement by Barbara Abercrombie

Fun fact, this was published only a month before I bought it!  I did not realize that when I purchased it but I feel like a beta tester!
There are 365 one page articles or anecdotes followed by a quote.  So far they have been railing on writing being dangerous/illicit/daring.  I am so done with it.
The examples I looked at when considering the book were much more enjoyable and there have been a couple of articles that I haven't been disgusted with.  I refuse to give up though, I'm hoping it will grow on me as the subject changes.
My responses to this will either paraphrase the article, respond to it, or both.  I'll try to add clarifying comments but we'll see how it goes.


I'm also thinking about doing a 365 self portraits project but that may not last.  It will last at least two months as I take a picture of every shirt I own.  :D  I may get bored after that.  And I'm still up in the air about posting it here in weekly batches or on Facebook.

Day 2 - Cost and sacred spaces

August 2 - This is what it cost
     I hate it when my family talks about money.  A lot.  It makes me very uncomfortable and a little guilty.  We've always been comfortably supported by my dad's income; we were never rich but neither were we poor.  Only when Dad was temporarily laid off did we (I) worry, and the only thing I really remember changing is that we stopped my piano lessons.  Not that I am or was heart broken.  He expected to be called Dr. Dave all the time, by a six or seven year old.  Pretensions.

Day 2 - Sacred Space
Plan my sacred "space"
- clear desk
- set up objects/photos I love (trees, black and white, Deanna, cat, mist)
- make it inviting (water feature)
- set time and days to write
- get reference books/book by authors I like
- focus on cleaning my 'office' when I get home

Day 1 - Nothing lasts and writing spaces

August 1 - Nothing lasts
      Rayella and peppermint ice cream
     Threatens to be depressing and sad, something with kids/swimming/Baskin Robbins
     The ice cream was a melted little puddle by the time they got back.  The once lovely mounds of peppermint were long gone.  Rayella and her kids had stopped by a quarry lake on their drive, decided to take a swim, forgotten their half-eaten Baskin Robbins.
     Thankfully they had gotten bowls to rest their cones in so the pink puddles were contained but the children stared mournfully until their mother promised to buy them more - later.

Day 1 - Switchbacks up the Mountain
So, what would my perfect writing space be?
Not alone really, or maybe ...

• Quiet but stereo system through the whole thing
• Big comfy couches and armchairs
• Water feature in and out
• By train tracks?
• Big library of non-fic ref
• Art prints/paintings on walls
• Not too clean or white 

My current 'switchback cabin' is a table at the library.  But preferably on the right side.  Left is associated with studying.  Either way I see the duck and goose ponds but on the right side people feed them less, there is less a concentration of people and few distractions that way.  I put on whatever music I need in order to be inspired: epic, sweet, rock, medieval.  Usually I write on my laptop (now) but there is something wonderful about sitting down with a notebook and pen and going to town.  At home when I write, scents can be important so I have a variety of candles that I will smell/light/or have it sitting next to me.  Some stories are orange cinnamon, some are apple spice, some are a delightful musk (like the Outsiders with Darry Curtis).

Quick Indy Update

Hey everybody!  I had hoped to get another post up today about my trip but I had a shift at the library, a wonderful Bowenwork appointment that I got to sleep during, and I still need to study for meeting tonight!  The update is in bullet form right now but I'm the only one who can understand it!  I am taking tomorrow as a rest day so I will work on it then and hopefully have it up soon!  I can't wait to share some of the adventure and hope to hear from you all!

Indy Pic Dump 1

 We flew Frontier this time around and evidently each plane has it's own 'mascot'.  The first leg of our journey we had Domino the fawn on our tail and wing tips.
The reason I could get this pic, we got awesome seats just behind the wing, my favorite spot.  From here I get great views of the ground and I get to watch all the ailerons wiggle and such during take off and landing.  Wow, how nerdy is that, I knew what they were called (though I did look it up to make sure I had the right word).

 This mountain range was so pretty!  The photo doesn't really capture how majestic it was, even from above.

 So weird, so cool.  I reminds me of the brownies my sis and I make, all crackly on the top.

Deutschland Bear and the animal crackers I ordered.  I found it highly amusing that it stresses that they are a "Good Source of Calcium".  Who cares!  They taste good; it is fun to bite their heads off; and I like making the lions roar at nearby family and friends.

I suppose I ought to introduce Deutschland Bear.  :)  Deanna and I got him at the tail end of our last Bethal trip at a Cracker Barrel and he has been my travel companion ever since.  He has eaten a whole bran muffin on a flight, colored in my coloring book, played on a computer, been bird watching and visited Canada.

Some of our neighboring planes when we landed in Denver.

That's a lorakeet in the back.

TORNADO SHELTER?!  In the bathrooms funnily enough.  I wanted to snap a pic of the sign in the doorway but there was such a steady flow of people (there was no way to avoid some sort of unfortunate pun, I'm sorry) that there was never a good moment.

Our 'mascots' on the flight from Denver to Indianapolis were Lola and Max the cougars.  An owl and a sea lion graced the neighboring planes.  Fun fact learned today; just as cougars are called mountain lions or pumas depending on the location, sea lions are the West Coast name for the East Coast seals.
You see those dark clouds in the background?  They were thunderclouds!  There was a bunch of lightening as we were sitting in the plane before take off, which the flight attendant got snippy about when I mentioned it.  When we finally took off the pilot had to fly around the edge of the storm and climb much higher than the previous leg.

Deutschland Bear coloring my new coloring book with my new colored pencils.  Boy does ... er ... his hand hurt.

Look who I found in a claw bin in a Meijers!  Annoying Orange!  What are you doing there?!

Is it still a four mountain day if you're above the clouds?

YAY for WiFi!  I finally figured out how to get on my great-aunt and uncle's WiFi.  Such a happy camper!  Here is what I wrote yesterday on our way to Indiana.

Tuesday, July 31^st, 9 am

Is it still a four mountain day if you're above the clouds?

That is the question my mother teasingly asked me at my excited exclamations when I spotted the four mountain tops peeking out of the grey swirling morass. I love flying. Flat out love it. I used to want to be a flight attendant so I could fly everywhere! Then I realized how difficult it would be to make meetings and service time so that dream quietly retired until the new system.

Today we have two flights, one from PDX to Denver, the other from Denver to Indianapolis where my grandmother and great-aunt will meet us. As usual it was cloudy around Portland but right now I can see the ground clearly below me, stretching like a brown and green quilt in desperate need of an ironing. Somebody doesn't know how to make their bed. I find the clouds above Portland to be fascinating. You'd think with something as puffy as clouds appear to be from the ground that the bottom of the cloud bank would be knobby or irregular but it's like someone took a painter's spackle knife and shaved off any extra cloud cover. The top is as wispy as any you'd see on a sunny day (what's that?) but the bottom … it is so cool!

Also, as we were beginning to taxi toward the runway, four Thunderbirds took off! Made. My. Day. And made me really sad. I LOVE the air show and watching/feeling the jets go over. Unfortunately, the Air Show at home is this weekend! This will be the first air show I have ever missed. So depressing! I have such fond memories of sitting on the roof with my dad and a scanner on the pilots' frequency, listening to the tower chatter as we watched the Red Baron dogfight, the wing walkers, the heritage flight and the THUNDERBIRDS … or in my childhood the Blue Angels. <3 It is not summer without roasting marshmallows and the Air Show. -sigh-

Soundtrack- Glenn Miller, Styx, Beach Boys, Billy Joel, Three Dog Night, String of Pearls

Tuesday, July 31^st, 11 am PST/12 am

Our pilot was amazing! You couldn't tell when the wheels touched during the landing! And the flight attendants were super nice. Awesome experience.

Trying to get WiFi at Denver Intl Airport, not so nice. Trying to figure out which signal to connect to is not easy, then when I did, I had to watch an ad. Plooey.

And in other news, my mother is messy! ^_^ We got KFC chicken strips for lunch during our three hour layover and mom got honey for her chicken (nummy). And got it all over her hands. She ended up picking up her drink using her wrists like a cute little sea otter. Sometimes I wonder how we are related! :D

I am so fascinated by clouds right now! The ones we saw coming into Denver were big and fluffy and looked like the fluffiest whipped potatoes ever! And so pure white! It made me a bit hungry. :)

Soundtrack - Disney Greatest Hits and Disney soundtracks

So nice to hear from you!

     First off, thank you so much Brian, Deanna and Luke!  I was so happy to see that people are reading my ramblings and willing to help me!  It was feeling a bit lonely out here in Cyberville.  :(
      So ... Rae is going to say she is going to see the Oregon Coast (who doesn't want to go there) which gives her a couple of days travel time before people start to worry.  My brother insists that there should be explosions but that's a teenage boy for ya!  We'll see if that works in.  When she leaves Rae is going to send flowers to each member of the Wayne-Greyson-Pennyworth household with a secret message via the Victorian flower language (something she learned from her maternal grandmother and that only Alfred will be able to fully decipher).  I've already started writing that scene! ->

      Dick sighed wearily as he threw the keys to the Bird Bike across his room, in the general direction of the end table, and slumped onto his bed; it had been a long night of fighting crime and he was looking forward to catching a few hours of sleep. He was surprised when heard his keys impact against ceramics. To his confusion there appeared to be a vase of flowers sitting on the table by his door. How had he missed that? Must have been more tired than he thought.

     There is more but I'm going to wait until I have more written to share.  :)  In her luggage are her various face shape altering devices and a couple of wigs/hair dye that she will use to change her looks in order to slip past any Missing Persons net that Batman or her father throw up.  And she will have liquidated almost all of her assests so she can pay cash for everything she needs, including the purchasing of a burner cell phone.  She will use a combination of buses and hitchhiking to travel to Oklahoma where she can say she 'lost' all her identification and procure new documents.  (Saying she lost her job and home and has lived in the streets might also work as her 'backstory' as the former Guardian works with people and animals in need.)

    Darrel and Alloria Curtis enjoyed the benefits of being semi retired.  Darrel was always a strong, hard working man, loyal to his responsibilities; after years doing back breaking roofing to support his wife and their four children, Darrel now owned his own building company and worked hard to make life better for his workers.  Alloria, still pretty while in her sixties, was once a police dispatcher, a job she was able to keep through the birth of their twins and son, after which she started doing the books for the police department.  Now she works part time, when they need her, the rest of her time is spent in animal and youth advocacy programs.
    Tonight they are spending a quiet evening at home, reading as usual.  Their eldest, twin son and daughter, are off and married; their next, another son, is likely somewhere with his cousins (who are also his housemates); and their youngest, another daughter, lives a few blocks over, closer to the school where she teaches.  They don't expect any friends or family tonight so Darrel is surprised when his wife and their German Shepard suddenly look towards the back door.  His wife has been acting strangely the past few weeks but he hasn't asked why, he figures she'll tell him when she's ready.  He lowers the paper he is reading as she rises and goes to open the back door.  Hans (the dog) waves his tail in a friendly fashion until his mistress shuts the door in his face.  Immediately he goes to the slightly open window near the door and sticks his nose to the screen, watching, smelling, listening.  Darrel listens too.
    "I know you're out there," comes his wife's voice, speaking softly into the darkness.  He can see from under the partially open curtain that she hasn't bothered to turn on the porch light and all that illuminates their backyard is the moon.  "With these extra senses it's hard to miss you."
    "I'll be more than happy to take them back as soon as the Council says so," comes another woman's voice, younger, but weary, with a touch of bitterness and wryness.
    "Since you're here, care to explain how you lost them in the first place?" Alloria began to take the tone she did when she wasn't sure if she should be angry at their children or comfort them.
    "Would you mind if we talked someplace a little more private?" the other woman asked.  "I've learned the night has many ears."
    "Come inside.  Do you have your companion with you?"  Darrel quietly folded his newspaper as he listened for the reply.
    "I actually have three with me, I hope you don't mind."
    "I won't but my husband may.  Would any of them mind staying outside for now?"
    Darrel heard the mewing of two cats, to which Hans pricked his ears, then caught the woman's response as he slipped into the next room.
    "Sable and Leppy will stay out here."
    "Very well, come in."
    Darrel heard the door open and the whisper of unfamiliar footsteps following his wife into the house.  There was a soft thump as something was deposited near the door, then several long moments of slightly awkward silence which Alloria finally broke.
    "Have a seat on the couch while I get you something to drink then we can discuss things.  Any requests?"
    "Water will be fine.  And maybe some Saltines."
    Darrel watched his wife head the other way down the hall to the kitchen, listening to the sound of someone settling on the couch.  As Alloria returned, a glass of water in one hand and a glass of what he suspected was rum and coke in other, he gave her a questioning glance.  Momentarily bypassing the living room Alloria stood on tip toe to give her husband a quick peck on the cheek.  While he was still bent over she whispered into his ear, "It may be a while, go ahead upstairs and I'll explain things later."
    After returning her peck he nodded and did as she suggested.  His wife would often have mysterious visitors from her work as an advocate that didn't tolerate men well so he had learned to be patient and make himself scarce when necessary. 
    Lori handed Rae the glass of water and the packet of crackers that she had tucked under one arm before settling into her chair, Hans curling next to her feet in an echo of the Himalayan perched next to the younger woman.

     As for getting to Germany ... we'll see.  It would be so much easier if Rae either wasn't hiding from Batman and Robin (so she could use his resources or any of her already established identities) or wasn't pregnant (in which case she shift into a cat or mouse and ship herself to the sanctuary in Germany).  But I like making things complicated for myself evidently.

Leap 32 - Gone With the Wind

     So, I was listening to some country the other day and when Draggin' the River by Blake Shelton and Miranda Lambert came on it started me to thinking about my NaNo08 character Rayella who vanishes and the fact I'd never really thought about *how* she disappeared.  But first, some back story.
     Rayella McGinty's DNA was altered as a child so that she has the ability to shift into some animals and communicate telepathically with all animals.  With these abilities, a strong sense of justice, and much training from Robin (a school friend) and Batman she joined the Teen Titans.  Shortly after joining the Teen Titans she was also selected to be the current Guardian of Terran Animals, a position that has been passed down since nearly the beginning of time and has given her extra abilities and strength.  While with the Titans she met and fell in love with the newest Guardian of Marine Animals, Garth aka Aqualad.  They even married secretly.  Unfortunately their marriage didn't last as she found him cheating on her with an Atlantian.  And shortly after that she found out she was pregnant.  Her anger at Garth coupled with wild pregnancy hormones causes her to attack him, a big Guardian no-no causing both to temporarily lose their positions and some abilities.  She continued crime fighting for a little bit after she discovered her pregnancy but soon, for the safety of herself and her unborn, Fauna 'retires'.  A month or so later, just as her pregnancy was beginning to show, Rae herself vanished, unwilling to admit to others that she was pregnant and unwilling to betray that she and Garth were married.  I originally had her going to the Black Forest on the Germanic border where there is a little, hidden monastery where the clerics know about the Guardians.  But Bruce and Dick know all her alternate identities, would be watching the airlines and there is no way she is taking a ship, what with morning sickness and her recent divorce from someone so connected to the sea.  So instead she goes to Oklahoma where she knows the former Guardian lives to establish a new identity so she can travel to Germany later.  Now, as for how she 'vanishes'.  Here's what I've come up with.

• Blow up her apartment.  - It's a bit destructive.  - I didn't have her in an apartment earlier in the story.  *She could send a British rep to commission the building of her new apartment.  * Makes reentering Gotham society rather ... interesting.
• Push her car into the river.  - Where in Gotham would she push her car into the river?  Seems like a waste of a perfectly fine piece of equipment.  - It would be a bit cruel to her family, as they think her mother died in a car accident.  She leaves letters for her father, Bruce and Dick so they will know she's not dead but still.  * Once again, society.
• Simply disappears.  What's the fun in that?  How would she travel?  By bus?  Cab is trackable.  So is train.  And car.
• She could have a public fight with someone as Rae then disappears.  But with who?  Not her father.
• Say she is going on a trip someplace, then doesn't check in.

Do you have any other ideas?  Which one do you think is best?

Top image from I have forgotten where.  Bottom image from Getty Images.

Leap 31 - Her Stony Face

Write about something on the verge of collapse: building, bridge, marriage, contest, institution, alliance, certainty

      How fitting, Rayella thought bitterly, that he had chosen this section of the city to attack. Did he know, she wondered, what lay beneath the streets here? From his association with Slade it was certianly possible, but even with all he had done she didn't want to beleive he would knowingly endanger theri sister's last resting place like that.
     The cavern had been high ceilinged and open until a few hours ago, empty except for Terra's statue, dried flowers left by Holly, and the security system Robin had installed to protect this little sanctuary.  Now there was rubble everywhere and she could feel the dust tickling her throat, even through the cloth she clutched to her face.  Streams of dirt randomly fell from the ceiling as she made her way through the devastation towards the fallen form of her sister and the plaque resting at her stony base.  How long until the street above broke through, she wondered and in answer a rumble suddenly came from above.  Taking the warning, Rae snatched up the plaque, took one last look at Terra's frozen face of painful triumph and fled.

Prompt from: - The Pocket Muse Endless Inspiration, New Ideas For Writing, page 7 (Monica Woods)

Leap 30 - A World of Pure Imagination

Open an imaginary door.  What do you see?

The door itself is a bit on the small side for an average person but as it is my imaginary door it is just right for me.  Looping, ivy like scroll-work lines the edge of the door, gold worked in the crevasses, making the creamy, whitewashed wood glow.  It is a rounded affair, fatter on the top than it's slender, squared bottom.  The lower two thirds of the door is partitioned into four even cells, each again lined with gilt.  At the top of the door is a half circle, like the sun bursting from a horizon level with my shoulders, but in shades of beautiful meadow green glass, at once hazy and clear, bubbles suspended in its surface.  I reach my right hand to its scrolled knob and without a hitch the door releases, swinging silently away from me.  I push it with my left to continue its swing and take in the lush, rolling, grass covered hills before me.  The door and the homey, fire warmed room I have just left fade from memory and existence as I breath in the essence of this new place, drinking in the trees that dot the hills, here at the top of knoll, here in a dell, there on the side of a gentle slope.  There are a few animals and I can see they are all at peace.  Deer and a maned lion wander past.  These are the pastures of Aslan, the door of a hobbit hole.  This is a place of classic authors and yet wholly my own.  The grass is velvet soft on my bare feet as I wander; the sun heats the top of my head and the back of my neck but the warm, slight breeze keeps it from becoming too hot.  A few clouds dot the sky that is a clear, deep blue, the likes of which can be seen in Idaho or on mountains in Oregon.  Coming to a giant evergreen at the peak of a hill I stop and settle my skirts around me as I sit.  All that would complete this idyllic scene would be a book and, looking to my left, I find a well thumbed tome, it's green cover and brown binding a familiar friend as I lean against the tree trunk, serenaded by tiny birds conversing in the branches above.

When my family went to the beach in mid November I was desperate for inspiration so I thumbed through this book (The Pocket Muse: Endless Inspiration by Monica Wood) at one of the outlet stores.  I decided I liked enough of the bits of advice and inspiration to buy it ... and then didn't use it.  Well, I'm fixing that now.  I sat down at the library today, turned to the first bit of inspiration and the prose above popped out (after a bit of editing during transcription to digital form).
As I first began writing I thought the scene beyond the door was going to be of a planet with deserted spires, looming moons, glittering stars and the occasional alien, but then I decided to describe the door first and a whole different world was revealed.  Maybe I'll stop by that place next time.  :)  Sounds like it sure could be fun!
The title comes from the song "Pure Imagination", which I always heard while growing up on Kenny Loggins' Return to Pooh Corner album, but evidently actually comes from the first Willy Wonka movie with Gene Wilder.

And on the Seventh Day (S)he Rested

Ha ha, not really but here they are.

20. Fortitude: There was no doubt that the Decepticons were the scariest things she had seen and very little was as painful as the things they inflicted upon her but she would not tell them where her new friends were hiding.
21. Vacation: A trip to visit her family wasn’t vacation in her book, it was simply what happens during the summer.
24. No Time: “Ten minutes to get to your wedding? I can get you there in five.”
28. Sorrow: She dreaded the day Adamantium and Kryptonite would die, they were older than she and very much family.
29. Happiness: Happiness was getting all the lights green.
34. Stars: One evening, on a rare night off Sam pointed up at the night sky and asked her partner, “Show me where you are from Downshift.”
50. Breaking the Rules: She loved to watch A-Team reruns and used to imagine that Hannibal was her long lost grandfather.
51. Sport: Sam enjoyed playing softball but didn’t join the team until after her mother left; she and her father also began going to more than one football game a year.
52. Deep in Thought: When classes got busy she spent every spare moment between fares studying.
56. Danger Ahead: “That’s ice on the road you bloody idiot, not glitter!”
68. Hero: When the children were told the prompt for their next paper little Samantha had no problem choosing; her papa was her hero.
78. Drink: When Sam came of age she realized she had rarely seen her father drink and when she asked him why, he had a sobering story to tell of the family struggle with alocholisim and what it had done to the best of men, eliciting a promise from her to never drink alone and prompting her to swear never to drink too much, a promise nearly broken upon Eddie’s betrayal.


* The bloopers for 20 have Sam telling the 'Cons that she goes through worse monthly.  -giggles-  Or maybe she should say she puts others through worse.
*56, silly autobot!
*78 was originally written as three sentences and I despaired of getting it into one, then I started typing and it all fell into place.  Yipee!

On the Sixth Day of Prompting

I fell asleep between 7 and 8 last night while waiting for my father to come check on my computer, which had mysteriously shut itself down, so needless to say, nothing got posted.  :)  Here are the prompts from yesterday.  I'll post the rest later (after I've done them!).

33. Expectations: She always enjoyed the shocked looks when she told people she could speak Irish; no, red hair was not a prerequisite.
38. Abandoned: Every summer the cousins spent their days planning pranks and exploring the words, searching the abandoned sheds for new treasures or animals.
39. Dreams: Ruthie Henshall made the best Fantine, in Sam’s opinion, seconded by Lea Salonga.
65. Horror: As her fellow first grader leaned toward her, his eyes closed and mouth puckered, Samantha’s reaction was horrified and instinctual, hit him with her mud filled hand!
66. Traps: One of her favorite pranks included saran wrap across a doorway and a very convincing, blood curdling scream.
69. Annoyance: Once, while Sam was bowling with her cousin, she left one pin, every frame!
75. Mirror: For a week, at every reflective surface she stopped and touched her newly short, chestnut hair.
82. Can You Hear Me?: Barbra Streisand’s voice crooned out her speakers and Sam dissolved into tears; maybe listening to the Yentl soundtrack on her first night alone wasn’t the wisest course.
83. Heal: The spring she broke her ankle was the most frustrating of her life as she watched her softball team play with out her.
85. Spiral: She can still remember the day she threw her first perfect pass with crystal clarity, from the sun dappling her face to the damp grass beneath her feet, from the roar of the air show jets going over her head to the bark of the neighbor’s startled dog.
86. Seeing Red: If Agent Ido asked her to ‘make a sammich’ one more time she was not going to be responsible for her actions.
88. Pain: She didn’t even feel the bullet graze her arm or the glass pepper her hands until she was finally sitting still in the ER.
89. Through the Fire: The colors of the campfire fascinated Sam so she and her cousins would throw different objects into the flames to see what color it would burn.
100. Relaxation: With each gear shift Sam shed a little more tension and by the time she hit 90 all her troubles, for the moment, were forgotten.

* Sam is comparing actresses in 39 because of the song 'I Dreamed a Dream' from Les Mis which they both sing (Ruthie's version, Lea's version).  So many of these prompts made me think of songs first, Sam second!
*69 is a true story.  I went bowling with my sister and a friend once and every frame I left one pin standing.  Different pins at different times but I never broke 9 a frame!  It was so annoying, even if I was laughing by the end.
*82 references 'Papa Can You Hear Me?' from Yentl.
* 83 & 85 Found out she played sports.  Huh.  Cool.
*89 FIRE!  Mwahahaha!  I'm a pyro.  So is Sam ... to a degree.